Poor Ron!
by Wunder Kind
Summary: The love of his life is dating his worst enemy.


**Poor Ron!**

By Nina

**Disclaimer** (applies to all chapters): Unfortunately I do not own Harry Potter, but I would buy him if I could. Ron, too, of course.

**Summary:** Ron Weasley's just found out that the love of his life is dating his worst enemy, his best friend (who happens to be a heroic millionaire) has recently moved in with his little sister, and his job sucks. It's Ron's turn to shine, and he isn't going to take any more dung.

**Author's Note:** As this is not a serious story, I won't put too much effort into it mechanically. Please tell me if you catch an error, but that's my super anal English teacher's job. It's just a fun story, and all reviewers will be loved and worshiped. If you sexy ole reviewers have questions for dear Ron, you can ask him in your reviews and he'll answer them at the end of the next chapter. It's first come, first serve, so be sure to ask before I update!

**Chapter One**

Okay, so I've gotten the flowers. Orange ones, of course. I mean, if you're going to get this really pretty person flowers, they really ought to be orange. I don't think she likes the Chudley Cannons, but that's alright. I like orange, and I like the Chudley Cannons. So she'll know when she gets them that they're flowers I would keep around, too. Plus, they match my hair. Or clash with it, however you look at it.

After _getting_ the flowers I guess I have to deliver them. How dumb. Wouldn't it be more simple if I could just give her a love potion or something? Hmm. Love potion. Now that's not a bad idea.

I see her almost every bloody day, so it shouldn't be hard to confess my undying love to her. Except lately I haven't been seeing her because she has to go to a bloody thing called _work_. Everyone says I need to get off my bum and get a "real" job, but I have enough work dodging reporters trying to get the inside scoop on Harry. Honestly, can't they just owl Hagrid or something? Or can't the dumb bloke just forget his "no interviews" policy? I mean, the people have the right to know the real thing from the boy who killed Voldemort. He didn't even tell _me_ everything- he's so bloody _secretive_ lately!

Everyone says my grades and experience are good enough to be an Auror, if I do extra Potions training, so I guess I'll apply. Hermione would like it. But just so you know, I'm doing it for her, not for me. The damn form has been sitting on my desk for weeks now, but I can't fill it out! I can't put on "Address" that I still live at the Burrow! All the other stupid Aurors-in-training would take the mickey out of me. As if I don't get that enough from Fred and George, even Ginny at times.

Ginny's training to be a Healer, ever since she got out of Hogwarts two weeks ago. Even Fred and George are successful. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is Zonko's greatest competition. Damn. I've been fetching coffee for Percy for over a year now. How sad is that?

Percy told me last week in a memo that I'd better help him with his Minister of Magic campaign or he'd fire my freckly ass. I told him to stuff it or I'd tell the whole Ministry of Magic that he used to have a crush on that Umbridge cow. I don't think he's ever going to be the youngest Minister, like he hopes. It's pretty obvious that Dumbledore's getting reelected, after helping win the war and all of that stuff, unless he's going back to Hogwarts, which also is quite probable. He did say when he took office that he'd only stay to help fight Voldemort. But now Voldemort's dead, so Percy's running. Yay.

Percy really is the worst boss. He's always saying I should apply for a proper job in the Ministry or an Auror or something equally boring, but why should I? Besides the fact that I hate having my boss being my brother. I contradict myself a lot.

Anyway, so I have two things on my agenda. Auror form and flower delivery. Okay, so applying for Auror position is probably more important, but there're no more Death Eaters left. It'll be boring. Plus, flowers wilt. And what if I chicken out? Yeah, I have to deliver the flowers before some guy even sexier than me beats me to it. I mean, Hermione is hot, Hermione is brilliant, Hermione is a very successful writer, Healer and founder of SPEW- I can say that I was one of the first two members. Besides Hermione, of course. But... Hermione and I have loads more history than some other guy who tries to win her heart (remind me to punch that guy's face in- whoever he is), so maybe I'm okay with that. I just hope she doesn't have the hots for Harry.

Argh, I wouldn't be surprised if she did. _Loads_ of people do, but Harry's a boring prat lately. Very moody. Totally absorbed in Auror training (maybe it's not so bad...) and always practicing for Quidditch. My best mates never have any time for me anymore! This sucks.

Mum's calling. "Ron! Lunch!" I walk down these stupid creaky steps I've been staring at for the past bloody eighteen years of my life and grab my coat.

"Can't, Mum, loads to do."

"Ooh, who are the flowers for?" she asks giddily. Women.

"Stop nosing, Mum. I'm applying for an Auror position, I'll have you know."

Mum rolls her eyes. "And Percy's marrying Hagrid?" She clutches a wand in one hand and a bowl of leftover Spelli-O's. She doesn't make much of a cooking effort if there are only two of us, with the rest moved out and Dad, well... dead.

"Ha ha, Mum," I chuckle hysterically. "I'll have you know that Hagrid is a taken man. He told me last week that he was going to ask Olympe Maxime to marry him, not Percy."

"Oh!" Mum gasps. "That's amazing! Oh, that's just perfect!"

It is perfect, size-wise, I guess. But Olympe Maxime is a bit on the scary side.

"Anyway, Ronald, you haven't told me why you need orange poppies to apply for an Auror position," Mum says slyly.

I sigh. "Oh, Mum, you wouldn't understand. Give me five sickles and I'll get something down in Diagon Alley."

Money is easier to come by these days, what with six- no, _seven _less mouths to feed and... Dad's life insurance. But I shouldn't remind Mum of that. It took her over a year to get over Dad's death. Ginny hadn't even entered her seventh year yet....

Mum handed me the coins and I Apparated out there as soon as possible, right in front of Hermione's flat above Quality Quidditch Supplies. I have my own key, so I burst in and make myself at home. Hermione is used to coming home to find me eating her food and watching her vellytision or whatever it's called. I'm quite fond of soap operas, but don't tell anyone.

I breathe in the familiar scent of lilac and look around the very tidy apartment. The spotless kitchen is, of course, packed with food. I take my share of pumpkin juice and begin to seat myself at the couch, planning to watch vellytision.

I wonder how I should greet her with the flowers. I could sprawl naked across the couch and hold a flower between my teeth, but that would be kind of embarrassing if she rejected me or she brought Harry with her or something.

I'll probably just hand her the flowers sort of shyly, her beautiful brown eyes will light up, and then I'll swoop down and kiss her passionately. Her knees will give way, I'll catch her, she'll break the kiss with happy tears in her eyes cooing how glad she was that I made the first move, and then I'll carry her to the bedroom....

That sounds like something on my favorite soap opera, _All My Happy Wonder Years, _that Montgomery would do for Kaitlynn. Speaking of which, that's coming on in five minutes...

There's something wrong, though. Something out of the ordinary. When I walked in, I didn't notice a box in the corner, about the size of a beer crate. I open it and inside I find a stack of expensive male robes, and at the bottom a pair of Snitch-adorned boxers.

How odd. Maybe Hermione's Austrian cousin, Markus, is staying over. I've never met him, but Hermione says we'd get along wonderfully. That's when I hear a giggle.

Hermione's giggle, for sure. But knowing Hermione, she doesn't giggle very often, and what she would be doing giggling at three o'clock in the afternoon in her apartment on a Monday is beyond me.

_She's just playing a card game with Markus, _I assure myself. I peek in the door of Hermione's bedroom, and there is a sight I never want to see again.

I can only see Hermione's hair, but the rest of her is covered by red satin blankets and Draco Malfoy's body. _Oh bloody hell._

The love of my life and my worst enemy are shagging right in front of me! I know I shouldn't make a scene, but I can't help myself.

"_Hermione!" _I croak. "What in Merlin's beard are you doing?"

Hermione whimpers. I still can't see her, but Draco merely turns around and says, "Don't you mean _whom? _Now if you'll excuse us, Weasley, please close the door behind you."

I don't need telling twice. This sort of thing is supposed to happen only on soap operas I'm so keen on! I mean, Draco Malfoy. _Malfoy! _To what level has Hermione sunk? I mean, sure, he's good-looking and all of that, if you happen to like slicked back blonde hair and pointy noses. Not to mention his extreme wealth and intelligence, but seriously. It's Malfoy, the bloke who's been calling the woman of my life a bloody Mdblood for years!!!

This is too much to handle. I rush out of the house, or try to. A hand on my shoulder, oh, such a beautiful hand. I want to kiss her long, pale fingers, but then I remember where they've probably been.

That's when I vomit all over Hermione's bare feet.


End file.
